it's not random
it's chaotic
the little hobgoblins of my mind are persistent
what would it be like to have grown up with a firm belief in reincarnation?
what would it be like to believe in, to have always believed in, karma instead of fate?

karma sees the world, every event, every gesture, every motion, as the whirring spinning clanking grinding of the gargantuan machinery of cause and effect, cause and effect, cause and effect. the wheel of sharp objects spins smoothly on its bearings.

motion is suffering is ignorance is aversion attachment anger is hatred is burning is burning is burning, burning a hole in the universe, the hole where time lives.

time is the ultimate trickster --- a magician who fools himself over and over again.

Rasputin just came in for a cup of coffee. He hasn't washed his hair in a long time, or maybe he just washed it and it's still uncombed and a little wet. He is, of course, dressed entirely in black. He carries a section of the local newspaper under his arm. He is wearing John Lennon's glasses and they change his way of looking at the world. The comics that he reads, Beetle Bailey, Peanuts, The Family Circus, overwhelm him with the pathos of human existence.

Rasputin would like to give peace a chance but he doesn't know how.

There have been 72 days in October so far this year and the end of the month still dances outside my grasp.
Do animals procrastinate?
How do I wake up?

I turn over and look out the window. In that pause sanity cracks open wide enough for the day to start. The crazy world fills the space around me, the dream reality of night disappears into the ground.

The window is the color of the day already happening.

the weevils of anxiety
tiny snouted bugs, silently breeding
consuming reality grain by grain